Gold-Devouring Bottom: A Guide to Pampering - Chapter 1

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow across the carpet.

Shen Xinghuai’s eyelashes fluttered slightly as he drifted awake. A chronic sleeper, he had a habit of keeping his eyes closed for a few minutes to gather his thoughts after waking. At home, the servants accustomed to his routine would wait silently by his side, never daring to disturb him.

He had spent the entire night plagued by dreams that left him with a lingering headache, making him even more reluctant to get up.

His mind was cluttered with fragmented scenes from a “dark ensemble” novel where every character was a villain. It was filled with forbidden tropes—forced confinement, physical and emotional abuse—and the night’s “read” had left his heart racing. Even now, he felt a chill for the boy in the book who shared his name.

The man who tormented him in the story was terrifying—a lawless, ruthless maniac who destroyed the world without a shred of humanity, dragging everyone into hell with him.

“Shen Xinghuai. You’re awake, so stop pretending.”

A cold, deep male voice rang out beside him, carrying a suffocating chill.

Shen Xinghuai: !!!

Shen Xinghuai jolted.

That voice, it was identical to the psycho from his dream. Was he still dreaming?

Under the covers, Shen Xinghuai reached down to pinch his thigh, desperate to wake himself up. He refused to interact with that madman. But as his fingers brushed his inner thigh, the smooth, warm sensation made him freeze.

The texture was wrong.

He usually slept in pajamas. Why was he touching bare skin?

He felt around frantically under the safety of the blanket. He was stark naked! Shocked, his eyes snapped open.

An unfamiliar figure filled his vision. The man was tall and elegant with sharp, deep features—a face so handsome it was beyond reproach. However, his eyes were sinister, steeped in an endless frost, and his entire being was shrouded in a gloomy, oppressive aura.

Shen Xinghuai stared fixedly at the man. His pupils trembled. The brutal images from his dream were so vivid that he recognized him instantly: this was Ye Xiuchen, the cold-blooded lunatic from the novel.

The moment their eyes met, Shen Xinghuai felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. His limbs went numb and cold. Please let this be a dream, please let this be a dream, he prayed fervently.

His terrified, dodging gaze clearly satisfied Ye Xiuchen. The man’s thin lips curled into a frigid arc, and a sickly sense of pleasure flickered in his dark eyes.

That smirk caused Shen Xinghuai to lose all sensation in his already stiff limbs.

When the psycho smiles, your life hangs by a thread.

In the dream, anyone who crossed this man ended up wishing they were dead. The “original” Shen Xinghuai had publicly expressed his loathing for him more than once, calling him an inhuman monster and avoiding him like the plague.

“Mm.”

Strong fingers suddenly gripped his chin. A thumb brushed against the pale, delicate skin of his jawline, rubbing hard enough to leave a red mark and a stinging heat.

Shen Xinghuai’s heart sank to sub-zero temperatures. He could feel the pain. This wasn’t a dream; this was reality. He had somehow crossed from his world into this novel!

“Waking up naked in my bed, do you like this surprise?” The voice was devoid of warmth. Its slow, mocking tone revealed Ye Xiuchen’s malicious intent: he was deliberately trying to provoke Shen Xinghuai, retaliating for the original host’s past disdain.

In the original plot, the host had indeed been driven to a blind rage by this taunt, making an irrevocable mistake that triggered his tragic downfall.

Shen Xinghuai slowed his breathing, forcing his mind to settle. He could not follow in the original host’s footsteps!

His lashes trembled as he slowly looked up, his bright eyes meeting Ye Xiuchen’s with an innocent, bashful gaze. “How did you know I was naked? Did you lift the covers to peek while I was sleeping?”

Ye Xiuchen: “…”

The man’s deep, dark pupils froze. He stared at Shen Xinghuai for a full ten seconds before his expression shifted into an unreadable smile.

His rough thumb moved upward, pressing against Shen Xinghuai’s soft lips and rubbing them with enough force to cause a burning sensation. “I did more than just look. Last night, I touched and tasted every inch of you.”

The man’s voice was low and magnetic, describing an intimacy that should have been heart-fluttering. But Shen Xinghuai saw nothing but bone-chilling coldness in those dark eyes.

Ye Xiuchen watched him intently, not wanting to miss a single micro-expression.

Under that piercing gaze, the tips of Shen Xinghuai’s ears slowly turned red.

However, it was all an act. His mind was perfectly clear: Ye Xiuchen hadn’t touched him last night. In fact, in the original plot, Ye Xiuchen never slept with him even until the day the host died.

The psycho was essentially asexual—a cold-blooded creature without feelings. No person or event could spark a shred of emotion in him; his life’s dictionary was filled only with the word “destruction.”

He had kept the original host imprisoned and humiliated purely for revenge—revenge against the host himself, and against his own arch-rival. Because the original host had another identity: he was the “White Moonlight” that Ye Xiuchen’s enemy loved but could never have.

Showing no trace of anger, Shen Xinghuai tentatively reached out a slender, fair finger and gently hooked it around Ye Xiuchen’s large hand. He looked up shyly. “So, last night we did it, right?”

He felt the finger he was holding stiffen visibly, but the psycho’s facial expression remained unreadable. “Of course. And more than once.”

More than once, my ass. This man could lie through his teeth without blinking. Though he had woken up naked in the man’s bed, Shen Xinghuai knew his own body; absolutely nothing had happened.

He didn’t plan on exposing the lie. The psycho was temperamental; who knew when he’d snap?

The man’s gaze lingered on Shen Xinghuai’s exquisite face, scanning his features with predatory intent. Seeing his silence, the man’s smile grew even colder. “Why so quiet? Reminiscing about our night together?”

The flush on Shen Xinghuai’s ears had spread to his cheeks, making him look even more tempting. He averted his eyes bashfully and gave a small, soft nod. “Big Brother was so amazing last night,” he whispered sweetly.

Ye Xiuchen: “…”

His lip twitched. He stared at the pink-and-white face before him, his mockery turning into intense scrutiny.

Under his stare, Shen Xinghuai raised his fair, shapely arms and intimately wrapped them around the man’s neck. His shy eyes curved into beautiful crescents as he gave a sugary smile. “Big Brother, I’m yours now. You have to treat me well from now on. You’re not allowed to bully me.”

Being hugged and addressed so coquettishly, the man—who now had a soft, warm body in his arms—froze like an ice sculpture.

Shen Xinghuai was satisfied with the reaction and decided to add fuel to the fire. “Well, bullying in bed is okay.”

The frozen psycho’s fierce expression cracked for a split second. His dark eyes locked onto Shen Xinghuai’s flirtatious gaze as he asked seriously, “Are you insane?”

“Just intoxicated by happiness.” Am I crazier than you? Don’t be so humble.

They remained in a silent stalemate for two seconds before the man abruptly pushed the warm body away and stood up. He loomed over the bed, glaring down with a darkened face.

Due to the sudden movement, the quilt Shen Xinghuai was clutching slipped, exposing his skin to the air. His skin was lustrous and pale, the lines of his collarbone graceful and alluring. The man’s sullen gaze seemed scorched by the sight, and he reflexively shifted his eyes upward.

Shen Xinghuai pulled the blanket back up, covering his smooth shoulders. “If you look at me like that, Big Brother, I’ll get shy.”

The clouds on Ye Xiuchen’s face gathered darker. “Were you faking being unconscious last night? You know I didn’t touch—”

He cut himself off. He watched as the bashful pink on Shen Xinghuai’s face drained away, replaced by a pale fragility. His eyes slowly welled with tears. It looked like he was going to cry?

Ye Xiuchen stared at the unshed tear trembling on the red rim of the boy’s eye. “What are you crying for!”

In his presence, the original Shen Xinghuai had always been cold and proud, like an ice lotus growing on a snowy mountain—aloof and unreachable. His gaze had never held anything but loathing.

But today, that untouchable person was tearing up because of a single sentence.

With tears shimmering in his eyes, Shen Xinghuai’s voice trembled softly. “You want to ‘eat and run’ and pretend nothing happened? You did touch me.”

Ye Xiuchen: “…”

His face was now darker than the bottom of a burnt pot. He paced the room twice in sheer irritation.

Unable to vent the fire in his heart, he strode back to the bed, intending to grab the “scammer” by the collar and throw him out. But his hand stopped mid-air.

Shen Xinghuai was naked; only his slender neck and exquisite collarbone were visible above the blanket. There was no collar to grab. Ye Xiuchen’s momentum crumbled. “Put some clothes on before you talk.”

Shen Xinghuai looked at the clothes scattered on the floor and said with a sob, “You took them off. You give them to me.”

“I didn’t take them off! You were already like this when I came back!” Ye Xiuchen reached down to grab the clothes to throw at him, only to realize they were shredded. His voice held a hint of powerlessness. “And I didn’t tear them, either.”

Shen Xinghuai knew he didn’t tear them. Ye Xiuchen wasn’t the one who had drugged him and put him here; someone else was pulling the strings, clearly aiming to kill two birds with one stone.

They wanted to ruin Shen Xinghuai’s reputation and frame Ye Xiuchen at the same time. The clothes were likely shredded by the kidnappers to prevent him from waking up and escaping.

Shen Xinghuai knew the truth, but he wasn’t going to say it. “Then I can only talk to you like this. After all, you saw and touched everything last night anyway.” He made a move as if to throw off the covers and stand up.

Ye Xiuchen pinned him down instantly, hissing through gritted teeth, “Wait! I’ll get you a bathrobe.”

A moment later, a bathrobe was tossed onto him.

Shen Xinghuai put it on and sat at the edge of the bed, looking aggrieved. “You have to take responsibility for me.”

Ye Xiuchen didn’t speak. He just stared at him with cold, eerie eyes, as if trying to burn a hole through him.

Being stared at by a psycho made Shen Xinghuai’s skin crawl. He couldn’t guess the man’s thought process or what he would do next.

As they sat in silence, the atmosphere in the room dropped to freezing point.

The vibration of a phone broke the deadlock. Ye Xiuchen answered it.

Because he was standing further away, Shen Xinghuai couldn’t hear what was being said, but Ye Xiuchen’s expression became deep and unreadable. Finally, he said, “Let them up,” and hung up.

When he looked back at Shen Xinghuai, the gloom on his face had mostly vanished, replaced by a sneer. “Was that little performance just to stall for time?”

Shen Xinghuai frantically tried to recall the plot. But the dream fragments were too chaotic, and he couldn’t remember what happened next. He could only take it one step at a time. “I didn’t,” he whispered defensively.

To Ye Xiuchen, that whisper looked like the guilt of a person whose conspiracy had been exposed.

Soon, a chaotic knocking sounded at the door. Judging by the noise, a large crowd had arrived.

Ye Xiuchen’s lips curled into a mocking arc. “Let’s see what kind of game you’re playing.” He strode out of the bedroom and pulled open the living room door.

Shen Xinghuai hurriedly adjusted his bathrobe and followed. As soon as he looked up, he was blinded by the flash of cameras.

A horde of reporters with “long guns and short cannons” (lenses) were pointed straight at them.

Shen Xinghuai remembered now! Because of his OOC (Out of Character) behavior, the scene was slightly different from the original plot.

In the original story, the host had believed Ye Xiuchen’s taunts, suffered a mental breakdown, and called the police to report a sexual assault. When the police arrived to take them for questioning, they encountered reporters at the hotel entrance.

Back then, the host had completely lost his mind and wanted to tell the whole world about the “disgusting” thing Ye Xiuchen had done. His confession to the press had disastrous consequences: Ye Xiuchen’s grandfather, the only person he respected, suffered a fatal heart attack upon hearing the news. Ye Xiuchen eventually found evidence to prove his innocence and counter-sued the host for defamation, sending him to prison.

After the host was released, Ye Xiuchen didn’t let him go. He blamed him for his grandfather’s death and subjected him to a living hell.

Recalling the original plot, Shen Xinghuai broke into a cold sweat. These reporters were clearly hired and prepared. When they didn’t find him at the hotel entrance, they had chased him all the way to the room.

What was worse? Ye Xiuchen assumed Shen Xinghuai had called them himself. He was facing another life-or-death decision.